


Tea With Leandra

by tortuosity



Series: Every Storm a Serenade [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, Meet the Family, just some silly self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortuosity/pseuds/tortuosity
Summary: Isabela is clever. Isabela is savvy. But not clever or savvy enough to outwit one Leandra Hawke. Takes place between Chapter 13 (“The Walk”) and Chapter 14 (“Dressed to Suppress”) of Songs of the Pirate Queen.





	Tea With Leandra

Maybe it was Hawke’s conspicuous absence. Maybe it was the tea tray already placed on the table, steam pouring out of the kettle, two cups and saucers set beside it. Or maybe it was the way Leandra didn’t seem particularly surprised to see Isabela in her sitting room, though she made a mighty effort to widen her eyes and form her mouth into a tiny “O” like one ought to do when encountering an unexpected guest. Whatever it was, Isabela had a feeling this wasn’t a spontaneous meeting.

“Isabela, what a lovely surprise!” Leandra said, with a dangerous twinkle in her eyes remarkably like the one Hawke got directly before stabbing someone. “I was just about to sit down for some tea. Marian should be home soon; she went off to the market for something or another a while ago.” She sat down and started to pour two cups, apparently under the impression Isabela was interested in tea. Or conversation. Or anything to do with Leandra.

“Oh, I can come back later. I don’t want to be a bother,” Isabela said, already backing away, but Leandra had her in her sights, the wolf and the halla, and there would be no escape.

She gestured to the chair across from her. “I’m afraid the bother is me,” Leandra remarked, adding a sugar cube to her cup. “When I was young like you, I always looked at those lonely old women and thought, that will never be me. Well,” she contemplated her cup briefly and added another cube, “here I am, a lonely old woman after all.” She sighed.

This was an exquisite guilt-trip, thought Isabela. It must be, because somehow, she was taking the proffered chair and teacup, despite her initial apprehension. This must be how Leandra got Hawke to do anything and everything. Isabela took notes for future reference.

“I see you made _ihe_ again. Do you like it?” she asked, immediately starting to pour cream and sugar into her tea. It was still in desperate need of coconut milk, and the odd little dry cakes Leandra served with it were leagues away from the more traditional savory pastry accompaniments, but it was still terribly charming of Hawke to go through the trouble of getting it. And, perhaps, Isabela could admit through gritted teeth, it was kind of Leandra to make it.

“Oh yes, it’s quite stimulating. If you and Marian decide to visit Rivain at some point, I would love to accompany you.” Leandra took a delicate sip and nodded in approval. “You _were_ planning on returning to visit your family at some point, weren’t you?”

Well. This was awkward. Isabela decided to take a leaf out of Varric’s book and spin a tale of her own. “Yes, my parents often write to tell me they miss me. Mother and Father can run the merchant company on their own while I’m away, but they always said I had the best business mind of the family.”

“Your parents own a merchant company?”

“Out of Dairsmuid, yes. The Nine Suns.” So maybe Isabela’s only experience with the Nine Suns involved raiding their vessels more times than she could count, and maybe Raul Faresmaad, the actual owner of the company, wanted her dead, but it was more believable than declaring herself a member of the royal family, a close second choice.

But then Leandra smiled and said, “My cousin Damion was a close trading partner with Raul not long after he formed the Suns. I wasn’t aware he had a daughter.”

And Isabela was caught before she had even begun. She struggled against the net, a futile effort. “I’m not surprised. I usually handle business from the back-end. Not one for the spotlight, you understand.”

Leandra hauled her catch in, her smile frozen on her lips. “You don’t have to lie to me, dear. I won’t judge you.”

Isabela took a drink, set her cup down, and fixed Hawke’s mother with her flintiest stare. “Fine,” she said. “You want the truth? My mother was a fake seer who tricked innocent people out of their coin. My father, apparently, was some large, hairy, nameless man I’ve never met. My blood has all the richness of a pile of straw.”

“So, you’re a pirate and the daughter of a con artist? Interesting.” Leandra’s face was stone, revealing nothing.

“As lowborn as they come,” Isabela reiterated, a challenge, daring Leandra to think even less of her. What did she know? She was a woman of the land. The rules were different on the high seas. Out on the water, Isabela was someone. Someone worth admiring, someone worth fearing. On a ship her heritage, her life before the waves, meant nothing. Maybe an inheritance could buy one a boat and a crew, but it could never command respect. Reverence, honor, the dread instilled in her enemies… those things were not for sale. They were earned through sweat and blood.

Leandra allowed herself a reserved chuckle against the rim of her teacup. “As was Marian’s father. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, it seems.”

Not the same breed of apple, Isabela thought. If Leandra was under the impression Isabela planned to marry Hawke and go traipsing across all of Ferelden with three children, she would be sorely disappointed. But Isabela would drink her tea and keep that to herself.

As she stared out the window to somewhere far away, Leandra cradled her teacup in her hands like a baby bird. When she spoke, her voice was wistful: “You know, I remember once when Marian was—let’s see, the twins were five, so she must have been around ten or eleven. We had just moved again, this time south of West Hill, and Marian was having some trouble making new friends. Then, this girl named Kattrin started boarding her horses at the same farm our family did. She was a few years older, maybe thirteen or fourteen, I can’t remember, but Marian adored her. She would go on and on about Kattrin this, Kattrin that until she was blue in the face. They were always getting into trouble… jumping fences, stealing from the neighbors’ gardens, spooking the cows. Once, one of the village boys pushed Kattrin into the mud. Oh, Marian was so upset about it she couldn’t stop crying. The next day, she found all the eggs she could carry and pelted him with them until he apologized.

“Apparently, they had been out riding one morning when a bear crossed the trail. According to Kattrin, Marian jumped off her horse and ran screaming at that bear with a kitchen knife she had pilfered from the house.”

“I can’t imagine the bear expected that,” Isabela said, imagining the scene: little Hawke defending her lady-love, leaping from the saddle with a battle cry, desperate to be the fairytale knight. She couldn’t have asked for better material to tease Hawke with later.

“Well, she scared it off, thank the Maker. I had no idea what could have possibly possessed her to do something like that.”

Surely Leandra couldn’t be _that_ dense. “Oh, I do.” Isabela smirked. “She was completely smitten with that girl Kattrin.”

“Yes, I couldn’t see it back then, but it seems so obvious now. That Marian… so much like her father. Tough as steel on the outside, but tenderhearted to a fault. She loves so fiercely. Especially the troublemakers.” Tea cake in hand, she regarded Isabela with a look most would interpret as friendly, but the slight tension in her jaw and around her eyes spoke volumes. “I would hate to see her heart get broken.”

Isabela gripped the handle of her cup hard enough to send tremors through the tea. “As would I.”

Sip, nod, eyebrow raise. “Then I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

When Hawke returned from the market a few moments later in a huff, claiming she had no idea _why_ Leandra needed _more_ parchment and ink, they already _had_ stacks of it, she didn’t write _that_ many letters, and Leandra said nothing, merely smiled, Isabela couldn’t help but admire how thoroughly the old woman demurely sipping tea across the table had manipulated them both.

_Well-played, Leandra. Well-played._


End file.
